


3 A.M.

by FlyAway_33



Series: Everybody Hurts Sometimes [6]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nightmares, Scrabble, Tour Bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyAway_33/pseuds/FlyAway_33
Summary: Tempers and emotions run rampant on Queen's bus during an exhausting stretch of their first American tour.
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor
Series: Everybody Hurts Sometimes [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691062
Comments: 19
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction
> 
> TW: VERY vague reference to past abuse.

1974

They felt like they’d finally made it. Touring America as the support for an established band was the break the boys had been looking for, as it was the first big step they needed to get their name out there. Freddie promised it every night before they went on: They were going to be big. Legendary. 

Roger, Freddie, Brian, and John all quickly picked up the habit of celebrating at whatever local club they could get to in whatever area they were in each night. The cycle went: sleep til noon, sound check, dinner, show, party, repeat. Over and over they played to thousands of people and collectively poured their hearts and souls into each performance. The first time they had a day off it was as though all the exhaustion caught up with them and they were all almost too sore to move, especially Roger and Freddie, who as drummer and lead singer, respectively, both had the most physically taxing jobs during performances. 

As the tour progressed, the boys found themselves monopolized by the rock and roll lifestyle, particularly during the week-long stint they had where every night for seven straight days they had a show in a different city. The boys didn’t even get the luxury of sharing hotel rooms with one another during this time, as after each afterparty they were crammed onto an old tour bus and shipped off to the next city. 

It was the bed situation that Roger hated the most. The four bunks, two on each side, were extremely small, skinnier than even single-sized beds, and they lacked curtains so there was never any hint of privacy for any of them. Being the youngest two in the band, Roger and John were often booted out to get the leftovers from whatever Freddie and Brian wanted, and therefore were the two who were assigned the top bunks. John was okay with it, though he loathed cambering up and down from the bed, but Roger hated his bunk with a passion. Already a restless sleeper the blonde found it even more difficult to drift off to sleep in a bed that was constantly moving, jittering, and jolting. More than once he found himself pitched off the side and onto the floor when the bus rounded a corner too sharp. Every night he was exhausted beyond belief and could feel his muscles screaming for relaxation, but no matter how sleep deprived he was he never could get a full rest in those Godforsaken bunks. Needless to say, the drummer was miserable while they lived on the bus.

The exhaustion took its toll on the newbie rockstars, and soon tension rose in the cramped vehicle. They never had the opportunity to get away from each other, and like brothers the more they were forced to hang out the more they argued. Freddie’s scrabble tournaments quickly started to fail to lift spirits when the boys started feeling so tired they couldn’t think and so irritable they couldn’t handle the friendly competition. Roger and Brian were the worst with the bickering. Brian hadn’t been feeling well lately and Roger was in pain from all the strenuous drumming coupled with his lack of sleep and the uncomfortable bed, so interacting with either of them was like walking in a mine field, and together they were a recipe for disaster. 

“Well fuck, Brian, it is a bloody word!” Roger shouted, his face heating in anger as he glared at the guitarist from across the tiny table in the minuscule kitchenette area of the bus. The band were having drinks and playing a round of scrabble to ride out the adrenalin of their show that had ended just an hour previous. According to management this would be a longer trip so they weren’t allowed to stay around for any post-concert clubbing.

“I’ve never heard or seen that word in my life, Roger,” Brian stated, fixing the blonde with an icy glare. “You can’t use it, it doesn’t count.”

“Oh excuse me I wasn’t aware you were a fucking dictionary!” Roger spat. “Its a bio word, of course you wouldn’t have heard it.”

“Well, since we don’t have a dictionary to verify and no one else here knows it, you can’t use it. We can’t even tell if it’s a proper noun or not.”

“Did Elizabeth die and make you Queen?” Roger waved his hands in an exasperated gesture as he began to shake with rage. “That’s not fair, Bri! The whole bloody point of the game is to outsmart your opponents!” God forbid someone know a word that future doctor Brian May didn’t know.

“Roger, I’m not accepting it. It looks completely made up.”

“You know what, Brian? Fuck. You.” In one swift movement Roger leapt to his feet and batted the game board across the table at the offending bandmate, where it skidded into the guitarist’s lap, tiles flying everywhere.

“Fucking grow up!” Brian retaliated quickly, sharply throwing a tile directly at the drummer’s face, where it hit his cheek, stinging him like a bee on impact.

“Oh, ya want to fight, do yeh?” Roger growled, his Cornish accent thickening in his anger much like it did when he was drunk. His fists tightened to the point where he could feel his nails digging into his calloused palms.

Brian leapt to his feet as well, his own fists balling up as the game board clattered to the floor below him. He raised one fist as though he were actually going to strike the drummer. Roger flinched violently away, but was luckily saved by the lead singer of the band.

“Children! Children, that is enough!” Freddie shouted, jumping to his own feet to hold up his hands between his quarreling bandmates, effectively stopping Brian from hitting Roger and quickly deescalating the fight. “Both of you calm the fuck down.”

Roger would never admit that there was anything more to his reaction to Brian’s impending right hook or that his swift duck away from Freddie’s outstretched hand was anything more than a normal instinct. It took a brief moment for him to ground himself once more and the drummer glanced around the table in discomfort, noticing the genuinely frightened expressions on John’s and Freddie’s faces as their eyes darted between their two angry bandmates. Immense guilt instantly washed over Roger like a tidal wave. He hadn’t meant to scare anyone, and his heart sank, thinking that they probably all thought he was horrible now, and all because of a stupid game. His rational mind shouted that it had been Brian who was the aggressor in this situation, but his exhausted, anxious, and vulnerable self-consciousness screamed that he himself was violent one, that he was obnoxious, and that he had ruined the game, that he ruined everything.

He shook his head willing the swirling thoughts to disappear as he cast his gaze to the floor, his cheeks heating in shame. He stretched open his hands, stretching them and squeezing them over and over to release the tension as, without another word, he slipped out of the cramped sitting area and padded down the two short meters to the bunks. Roger always felt white hot embarrassment after he lost his temper, which on occasion just made things worse, but this particular time the embarrassment just sent him off to hide. He needed to be alone or he felt like he would go crazy. He thought to himself that he’d rather be anywhere than stuck on this cramped tour bus.

With a tired groan the drummer pulled himself onto the right side top bunk where he had his own pillow and blanket from home. He snuggled in and inhaled his own scent that brought him some kind of vague comfort. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep especially since the others seemed to be staying up and chatting, but he was truly exhausted, angry, and didn’t want to face any of them again for the rest of the night. It was the wee hours of the morning anyhow, so there was nothing much better to do than to try to sleep. 

As he dozed, Roger couldn’t help but notice that his body felt more run down than it ever had in his life. Touring had been exhausting with the show, party, hangover cycle they’d been of for the past solid week. He knew he needed to take better care of himself on the road if they were going to continue at this pace. They all needed more water, more sleep, less booze, less drugs, but Roger lived in the moment, and it wasn’t until those rare occasions where he laid his head down at night, relatively sober, that he felt how drained he was remembered the need to take care of himself. Roger was surprised to find himself drifting off to sleep to the white noise of the moving bus, and he didn’t put up a fight as the rare sweet release of sleep took him.

The other bandmates were rather surprised at how Roger had just up and walked away from them like that. It wasn’t like him at all to give up so easily, and Freddie gazed sadly toward the bunks as the drummer retreated.

“Oh, dear.” Freddie whispered as not to allow Roger to hear him worrying. “That’s not like him to just walk off. I do hope he’s alright.”

Brian snorted and rolled his eyes as he plopped back down and pulled the game board back up onto the table. “Come off it, Fred. He’s fine.”

“I think he’s just knackered like the rest of us,” John piped up with a yawn as he stretched his arms above his head. “You know how he gets. In fact, I think I’m going to turn in soon, too. No more scrabble for me, but I’ll stick around for a few.”

“I’m about done out here as well,” Freddie sighed solemnly, casting a wary look toward Brian. “Its been a long week.” The singer stretched before slipping away from the table and heading toward his own bunk directly beneath Roger’s. 

John’s gray eyes flicked to Brian, and in them Brian sensed a prying curiosity. “What?” Brian snipped, thoroughly annoyed. 

“Nothing, just thinking about the game.” John sighed, his voice low and his gaze searching.

“What about it? Roger’s cheating?”

“Oh come off it, Brian,” John grumbled, catching the guitarist off guard with his unsolicited attitude. “You know he doesn’t cheat. None of us do, and its offensive you’d think so. Just because he used a word you didn’t recognize doesn’t mean he cheated.” The bassist’s tone was starting to get heated as he continued. “He was right that the whole point was to use words others wouldn’t think of. He’s not a bloody imbecile and you shouldn’t treat him like that. You shouldn’t treat any of us like that, for that matter.”

“Oh” was all Brian’s scrambled mind could conjure in response. He wasn’t used to being called out so blatantly and he immediately felt like the worst person in the world. Crippling guilt clutched at his insides as he felt his heart break. “D-do I do that a lot?”

John’s eyes softened at hearing Brian’s upset reaction, but as he met his gaze some kind of resolve hardened behind his knowing gray eyes. “Yes, Bri. Not as much to me and Fred, but you treat Rog like shit. Quite often.”

“I— but—“ Brian was at a loss for words as he searched John’s expression for any sign of exaggeration. “How so?” He challenged, suddenly finding his voice, deciding that his bandmate’s words couldn’t be true. 

“I feel like you have this air about you that you think you’re better than him. Smarter. Some of the things you say to him makes it sound like you think he’s dumb. But all that is just my observation. I don’t know what Freddie thinks or how Rog feels. It’s just what I see.”

“I do not think he’s dumb!” Brian whimpered, his voice rising slightly in distress. 

“Then why did you accuse him of making that word up?” John hissed, still keeping his voice low. He was standing now, annoyance boarding on anger flashing bright in his eyes. “Its inconceivable to you that any of us could know anything that you don’t, isn’t it?”

Brian had had no idea that John felt so strongly about his friendship dynamic with Roger until that moment, and he wondered if Roger had just been suffering through their friendship all these years. Was it really how John perceived it? His voice came out as a pathetic whisper as he responded, “John, that’s not at all what I think.”

“Well, I just wanted to make you aware of how shitty you just were to him. It’s his business though, so I won’t meddle any longer. I’m tired. Night, Bri.” John was the third band member to retreat to the bunks, leaving Brian to his thoughts at the tiny table where only 10 minutes ago the whole band had been seated, having a well and good time together.

Brian grabbed a beer from the mini fridge under the table and brooded over what he’d just learned about the way he was perceived by his bandmate. Guilt overcame him as he thought over how the game had ended, remembering the flash of hurt that had lit Roger’s baby blue eyes when he’d accused him of making the word up. Brian painfully remembered the rage he’d felt when Roger had argued with him. He’d genuinely believed that Rog had been cheating, but now that he thought it over he realized how awful he’d been, and that he was probably wrong all along. After all, Brian being interested in astrophysics knew first hand that there were some weird words in every scientific discipline. It was just a dumb game and he’d hurt his best friend’s feelings and made an ass of himself for nothing. 

After sulking for a while Brian took the last gulp of his beer before he started scooping up the abandoned game pieces and dumping them into the little velvet bag. The box was long gone, so he gently tied the bag and simply set it atop the board before getting up and retreating ruefully to the bunk area. He flipped off the small light over the table, casting the interior of the bus into darkness, lit only by tasing headlights shining in the windows.

He was surprised to hear three different deep breathing patterns, and smiled to himself, glad that it seemed as though everyone was actually asleep for once. God knew they all needed it. Before ducking into his own bunk, Brian’s eyes swept over each of his sleeping bandmates in the glow from whatever highway they were on and landed on the pretty face of their drummer. The blond was out like a light, deeper asleep than Brian reckoned he’d ever seen him. He was lying on his stomach with his face turned toward the middle of the bus and his cheek smooshed into his pillow. His eyes were closed peacefully, his long lashes contrasted sweetly on his full cheeks, and his lips were parted enough to let a tiny stream of drool escape to soak the pillowcase underneath him. His breathing was deep and even, the most steady it had seemed in weeks, now that Brian noticed it. 

Brian resisted the urge to reach out and stroke the drummer’s cheek fondly, and instead just smiled softly at the peaceful sight and ducked into his own bunk. He tried to put the argument they’d had out of his mind, as they had a dozen like it every day. He couldn’t beat himself up over one little spat. When they woke up in the morning it would all be forgotten, so Brian chose to think of anything else instead, like a new riff he could play on Red. He settled down and found himself already feeling sleep grasping at his frayed nerves…

Brian awoke with a start, cursing to himself and sitting up to rub his eyes. The bus was still dark as the dead of night, it couldn’t have been more than an hour since he’d gone to bed. He sat up with a groan and rubbed his eyes, looking around blearily for whatever had awoken him, and was met with the startlingly owlish appearance of Freddie as the singer peered out at him from the blackness of his bunk.

“Freddie what—“ Brian began, but the singer cut him off with an aggressive “shh” as he pressed his fingers to his lips.

A small murmur suddenly cut through the white noise of the bus, and Brian looked around in bewilderment, his eyes landing on the source as another, more desperate sounding whine reached his ears. It was Roger. The blond had shifted to his back, his blanket cast away to the floor and his pillow teetering on the edge. Brian couldn’t see his face from where he sat in his own bed, so he slowly and silently slipped into the aisle and stood so he could check on him. 

“Brian” Freddie hissed, “Don’t wake him!”

It was then that Brian could see the state their drummer was in. Roger had broken out into a cold sweat, his face was ghostly pale, and his brows knitted together. His eyes were still closed, but much tighter than they had been earlier, and Brian could see the rapid eye movements beneath his lids. The drummer’s scarred knuckles were translucent as he gripped the sheets for dear life. 

Suddenly, a loud cry from the blond sent Brian nearly jumping out of his skin and effectively cleared up the mystery of what had woken him up. 

“I’m sorry!” Roger cried amongst other indecipherable pleadings. Tears were squeezing their way out of his closed eyes and Brian felt his heart break a little bit at the sight.

“Remind me why we shouldn’t wake him, Fred?” Asked John from behind, causing Brian to jump once again, having been unaware that the bassist had been awake.

“Because,” the singer sighed sadly as he stood from his bed, coming to stand beside the guitarist. “Sometimes if he’s woken forcibly he thinks he’s still in the nightmare for a moment. It could be dangerous for both him and the person waking him—“

Another desperate cry cut the singer’s explanation short and now Roger was thrashing about in his bunk, kicking his feet at the wall and turning his head side to side rapidly as his whimpers increased in frequency. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” The pillow finally fell victim to gravity with one too many wriggles from it’s upset owner.

“Freddie, we have to wake him!” Brian whimpered. He couldn’t take this. The guitarist stepped closer to the drummer and hesitated, images of how this could go wrong flicking through his head. “Roger,” he called quietly, “Roger, come on, wake up mate, it’s only a dream.” He slowly and gently placed his hand on the drummer’s shoulder. He was taken aback by the speed at which Roger’s hand came up to capture Brian’s wrist in a vice grip. “Bloody hell, Rog,” Brian hissed in alarm, bringing up his other hand to stroke the drummer’s forearm in hopes he would relax his grip and wake up. “Come on, Roggie. You’re alright.” He cooed softly. 

Roger then awoke with a gasp, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes flew open to reveal bright irises enhanced by fear and exhaustion. He sprung into a sitting position causing both Freddie and Brian to jump back in surprise. 

Roger’s shockingly blue orbs darted around first to check his surroundings, then to the faces of each of his bandmates. The only word Brian could come up with to describe the look in Roger’s eyes was terror. It was unnerving to see someone so stubborn and self-reliant looking so frightened and vulnerable. The blond was shaking like a leaf. 

“Roger—“ Brian began cautiously, but he was cut off.

“I’m sorry,” the drummer interrupted, uttering the apology for the dozenth time that night, though for the first time consciously. “Did— did I wake you all?” His eyes darted to each of their faces once more before dropping to his lap, tears leaking down his full cheeks. His voice was so small and frail he sounded like a small child who had just deeply disappointed his parents. It broke all his bandmates’ hearts.

“Rog, love, are you alright?” Freddie asked gently, placing a hand lightly on Roger’s knee. 

The blond took a shuddering breath, “Yeah, Fred. ‘M alright.”

“That’s it, love,” Freddie hummed in encouragement as he gently took hold of Roger’s arm in order to help him down off the top bunk. “You’re alright.”

Freddie had lived with Roger for quite some time and had even shared a room with him at one point, so he was very practiced in the art of taking care of Roger Taylor: a feat not many could even attempt. Roger was physically clingy as all getup but when it came to emotional vulnerability there were very few people with the ability to crack through his tough shell. Living and working in constant close quarters with Freddie for so long had given the drummer no choice but to become emotionally vulnerable to him. What else was he supposed to do when he woke up crying in the middle of the night several times a month? He’d had to be honest with him, he’d had to let him in. And in turn, of course, Freddie quickly figured out how to soothe the drummer.

Freddie was ever so careful as he nudged Roger into the lower bunk and clambered in after him, collecting the blond’s blanket and pillow to burrow him with on the way in. Cuddles, closeness, the like were what Roger needed to feel safe. He needed to be grounded by having a way to remember where he was and who he was with. He needed to not feel so alone. 

Brian and John both watched on in amazement at how gentle Freddie was with him and how the normally volatile drummer just accepted it. Freddie settled in beside Roger and brought him into his arms. “Would you like to talk about it?” He cooed as he began to stroke the blond strands out of Roger’s face. 

Roger shook his head, his still fearful eyes darting past Freddie to Brian and John before meeting Freddie’s once more. Brian and John both felt their hearts break a little more seeing the unmistakeable guard going up over their drummer’s soul. 

They weren’t trusted.

“Rog, I don’t want to pressure you, love, but could we at least let them know in the morning what all this is about?” Freddie’s eyes never left Roger’s as he tried to reason with him. “We’re in close quarters, it’s only fair. Look how shaken they are!”

A heavy sigh escaped the drummer’s lips as he snuggled deeper into the pillows, seeking refuge. He just wanted to be consumed by them and disappear. “Alright Fred. I just don’t want to talk about it right now, is all. It was a bad one and I have a headache now.” 

“Alright.” Freddie accepted, remembering that the drummer always got headaches every single time he cried. The singer then twisted around to look at the other half of the band and offered them a reassuring smile, “I got him, boys, we’re all good here. Get some rest and we’ll talk in the morning, yeah?”

Brian and John both muttered their assent and retreated into their bunks as Freddie returned his attention to Roger. He continued running his fingers in soothing patters through Roger’s hair and kept an arm wrapped protectively over his thin shoulders. In the softest whisper he could muster Freddie breathed: “I got you. You’re safe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie, Brian, and John have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I never planned for this to be more than a one-shot but there was a lot of interest so I was motivated enough to continue!! Thank you to everyone who commented asking for more. I am so so glad to see that you enjoy my work— it means the world to me!
> 
> So situation-wise in the story, it’s an awkward time block where I just needed to invent a long bus ride for them so uh, I guess just go with it. That’s what fan fiction is for anyway. Enjoy!

The bus traveled all night and the four grumpy musicians weren’t thrilled when they were awoken at a large rest stop, even though it meant food. Freddie groaned and stretched as he opened his eyes and glared up at John and Brian who were already getting dressed and ready to head out to the food court. They chattered softly to each other, somewhat excited for all the options to choose from as their sleepiness began to ware off, and effectively prevented Freddie and Roger from falling back to sleep. 

Freddie didn’t speak, but made his distain clear with dramatic sighs and grunts as the strings section of the band continued on their merry morning whilst Freddie felt like he’d been sleeping in a small box. Roger slept like an octopus and had been wrapped around Freddie all night, taking up the whole bed. Freddie adored Roger but if it were any other time he’d have kicked him out of his bed hours ago. He groaned as he peeled himself away from the drummer, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the sticky feeling one gets from cuddling too long. 

“They’re gone, darling, you can get up now.”

Roger let out a pathetic whine in response and rolled over, pulling all the blankets and both pillows over himself in the process. “Go on without me, Fred.”

“Oh don’t be so fucking dramatic.” The singer grabbed fistfuls of the blankets and in one swoop pulled them all off of the drummer.

“I have a headache, come on!” Roger’s voice actually cracked from distress, and combined with his already high and airy voice he sounded like a prepubescent teen. He rolled once again to shoot a pleading look at Freddie. 

“This is our only chance to get food for God knows how long— probably until we get to the next venue. We haven’t eaten since before the show last night, let’s go.”

“Then go on without me. I’m fine. Seriously Fred.” The drummer curled up into a fetal position, trying to keep himself warm without blankets. 

Freddie sighed heavily as he sat back down on the bed and lowered his voice, placing a hand on his best friend’s hip. “Roger, love, you don’t have to talk about last night, but we do have to get some food in you. Really, I’ll just tell the boys you don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s not just that Freddie, I’m— its just I don’t feel well. Go on, mate I’ll be fine.” 

Freddie knew he wasn’t fine. “Roger, you won’t even look at me.”

The drummer turned his brilliantly blue, sharp gaze to the singer. His eyes were beginning to redden. “Freddie, I do not want to go. Please just leave me alone.”

“Rog—“

“Freddie, please.”

“No.” The singer could see the desperation in his best friend’s face and his resolve only hardened. “These are your brothers. If you don’t want to talk about it, they’ll respect that. All we have to do is go get food and come right back in here if that’s what you want but you will not hide away in bed all day. It’s not like you at all.”

“That’s just it, Freddie. They won’t respect me and I’m sick of it. None of you respect me in the studio, none of you respected me during scrabble last night, and you’re not respecting me right now!” 

“Because you’re acting like a child! It was a bloody game.” Freddie chose to ignore the studio comment. That was a song for another time. But if looks could kill, Freddie would be dead as a doornail from the piercing glare he received. The singer watched with painful realization as the glare melted into a look of pure hurt before the drummer rolled over to face the wall once more without another word. Freddie went through a range of emotions in a millisecond and could see he’d crossed a line, but he didn’t know why or how, so he reacted the only way he knew how: with anger. 

“Fine, be that way.” He spat with vehemence as he yanked on his abandoned jeans from the night before and marched off the bus.

Freddie left Roger lying there with tears building menacingly in his eyes. He tried so hard to keep them at bay, and he was able to hold on until he heard the telltale slam of the bus door before the dam broke. For the second time in 12 hours the strong, hardheaded drummer was reduced to pathetic tears, only this time he was spiraling and quickly, and no one was there to comfort him. He curled in on himself as a painful, angry, devastated sob wrenched itself from his chest. Unpleasant, overwhelming thoughts swirled in his head, far too much for him to process in his state. 

On top of all his emotions Roger was more exhausted than he ever had been in his life. Playing drums for hours under the heat of stage lights with the passion of performance and rush of adrenalin that came with it every night for seven days, and then staying up drinking, smoking, and indulging was taking more out of him than he ever expected. He hated the fact that this life was all he’d ever wanted but now that he had it he was just so damn tired. 

And his bandmates. Oh his amazing, smart, talented bandmates whom he loved with his whole heart. He reckoned they only thought of him as an imbecile. To them, he was just whiny child; that annoying kid brother they had to let tag along, who inserted himself in everything. They hated his songs, they didn’t value his mind, they didn’t trust him not to cheat at a stupid game, and they wouldn’t respect his privacy. No one had stood up for him when Brian questioned him. Hell, they rarely took his side in any argument. It was always “Roger calm down” or “Roger you’re being ridiculous”. He hated the fact that he couldn’t keep his temper in check, it made the boys view him as immature, but as he raised his hand to feel the raised scratch left on his face from the scrabble tile the night before, he reminded himself that no matter how angry he got he never hurt anyone. 

Last night he’d gotten into an argument but he hadn’t caused physical harm. He’d been yelled at, nearly been hit, had felt so disrespected, and all of it along with his exhaustion had triggered a flashback nightmare. To top it all off, the boys wanted to know what he’d been dreaming about. 

Roger suddenly felt very exposed still lying on Freddie’s bed sans blankets, so he rolled off, grabbing his pillow and blanket on the way, and clambered back into his own bunk. The comfort of his own scent enveloped him, and he closed his eyes as he curled into a ball once more and pulled the blanket all the way over himself. He needed to hide, to feel safe. The pressure headache behind his eyes was nearly blinding, every muscle in his body screamed for water, and all he wanted in the whole world was to sleep off all the stupid emotions.

Meanwhile, Freddie headed out into the parking lot and toward the rest stop building. It was one of those huge, food court style rest stops that had the Brits feeling culture shock as they had shuffled in to find themselves surrounded by multiple different fast food joints and a farm of greasy tables with flimsy chairs so close together it was difficult to navigate. Freddie was at least able to spot Brian’s mess of curls across sea of tables filled with weary travelers and weaved his way to where he was sitting with John. He halfheartedly waved at some of the tour staff who noticed him as he made his way toward his bandmates.

“Mornin’ Fred. No Rog?” John looked up from where he was tucking in to a stack of fast food pancakes.

Freddie sighed loudly and plopped dramatically into an empty chair at the table. “He was being a complete brat this morning. Absolutely insufferable.”

Brian shot Freddie a worried look as he lowered the donut he’d been nibbling at. “Is he alright?”

“He said he wasn’t feeling well, but I’m sure he’s just embarrassed about last night.”

“The fight or the nightmare?” John asked, pointedly. “You know how he is, Fred. He doesn’t do well with embarrassment. Or any emotion for that matter. Just leave him alone for a bit, he’ll come around.”

“What was all that about last night anyway?” Brian probed in a cautious tone. “You seemed pretty at ease with it, Fred, but It was a bit frightening for us.”

The singer avoided the guitarists gaze as he thought carefully over his response. “I lived with him so I just know, but it’s not my business to share.” 

“I think we have the right to know what’s going on with him. That nightmare or whatever last night wasn’t normal. Obviously there’s something wrong and you know about it.” Brian countered. “We’re all practically living together right now. We shouldn’t be left to worry.” 

“The right? Brian, I was wrong to ask him to talk about it with us all last night. I was only trying to calm him by putting it off, and while I agree it would be helpful for you two to know, no one has the right to Roger’s personal business except for Roger himself.”

“Well…” Brian trailed off, gathering himself, “I really think John and I should know. What if it happens again? John shares hotel rooms with him and what if it happens while Johns alone with him? How would he handle that?”

“Well now I see what Rog was talking about,” Freddie mumbled in annoyance, ignoring Brian’s questions and returning his eyes to a napkin he was fiddling with. He continued when his bandmates made sounds of confusion, his brows furrowed in thought. “This morning I told him I’d tell you both he didn’t want to talk about it but he still refused to come. He thought you’d still press the issue. Said none of us respect him. Me included. I’m starting to think he’s right.”

The boys sat together in silence for a moment, all lost in thoughts. No one knew what to say and as they racked their brains going over every interaction with the blond and with the whole group they were starting to feel the swell of guilt in each of their chests. The type of banter they all participated in, the rapport and teasing relationships they all held with each other were mostly in good fun, but they were all starting to see that maybe some fine lines had been crossed and that it wasn’t just innocent teasing anymore. Even John was beginning to feel bad for not standing up for Roger. He could have said something. None of them were innocent. 

Freddie picked up the discarded lid from John’s orange juice and began to spin it on the table like a top. He was having trouble with this long leg of the tour and suspected his bandmates were as well. He could see how tired John was, how Brian didn’t seem to be eating much, and how Roger was clearly aching all over and in turn had become more irritable than a bear in spring. Freddie himself was so worn out he felt he could keel over at any moment. He knew the exhaustion and stress they were all feeling was getting to them; making everyone’s emotions run high and tempers shorten. 

“So, ah,” Brian was the first to break the silence after a long while. “I feel like maybe I was an ass to Roger last night,” he admitted more to Freddie, as John had already called him out for it the night before. 

Freddie looked up, his brows raised in amusement and his response dripping with sarcasm, “You think?” But as Brian cast his gaze down in shame he continued, “darling we’ve all been terrible to each other. Don’t feel too guilty. We’re adjusting to our new life and it hard for all of us. But I do think we all need to sit down and have a talk today. However, I implore you not to press the nightmare issue with Roger. If he wants to talk about it he will, but if we pressure him he’ll only shut down. You know that.”

Brian nodded solemnly and stood to throw out the uneaten half of his donut. 

“We should get something for Rog,” Freddie continued, his eyes tracking Brian as the guitarist moved about wiping up crumbs and throwing out his finished coffee. “Where’d you get that donut?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This will most likely be just 3 chapters. I’ve started working on the third, so let me know if there’s anything specific you’d want to see and I’ll see what I can do :) 
> 
> I appreciate you all so much!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rog opens up to the boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: childhood trauma, past child abuse
> 
> Disclaimer: Before you read this chapter I just want to make it very clear that the childhood trauma Roger is talking about in this chapter is loosely based on my own. There is little to no evidence of with whom or when real Roger "experienced domestic violence" and I just want to make it clear that this is NOT assumption or blaming, but rather my own (loose) projection. 
> 
> A/N: With the very fictionalized movie it is very easy to forget that these are real peoples' names and personalities we are appropriating in fan fiction, so I will be making a better effort in including a disclaimer in all my stories from here on out.
> 
> I still value fan fiction as a genre, of course, but I strongly believe in the importance of disclaimers, and I had lost sight of that value when I moved to AO3, where disclaimers aren't required as they are on fanfiction .net (I don't know how it is now but years ago they were required). 
> 
> ANYWAY Enjoy the final, very dialogue heavy chapter of this fic. I try to make the boys as "human" with their thoughts and actions as I can, which of course that means they make mistakes and have irrational thoughts and feelings. I genuinely enjoyed writing this fic and I hope you all enjoy reading it! Please drop a comment to tell me what you think. This fic having three chapters instead of just one is proof that comments keep writers going.

“Oh, Blondie!” Freddie sang as he stepped up into the bus, a box of assorted donuts balanced on one hand and a coffee cup clutched in the other. “We come bearing gifts!” He set the items down on the table and the three returning musicians settled into the booth-type seat around it. Freddie looked over his shoulder toward the sleeping area but couldn’t see the drummer, so he glided over to the bunks and, seeing his own bed now empty, peered into Roger’s. “Rog.”

The blond turned his head and blinked at Freddie, seeming a bit out of it.

“Breakfast. Come on.” The singer plunged his hand into the tangled lump of blanket, pillow, and drummer and somehow found a wrist to tug on, all but forcing Roger to come along, but not without a groan of protest.

“Freddieee,” Roger whined, now off his bunk and digging his heels into the carpet.

“Nope. Not going back to bed.” The singer pulled Roger to walk in front of him and steered him into his seat. He opened up the box to reveal a dozen sickly sweet pastries “Donuts, my dear. Take any one you’d like. The coffee is for you as well, fixed the way you like. The rest of us had ours inside.”

“Thanks.” Roger grumped, pulling the cup over and taking a cautious sip. He then reached out and chose a donut, glancing suspiciously around at the others as they chose theirs after him. Something was off. Where was the arguing over flavors? Where was the endless banter and teasing? And they’d brought him coffee without giving him hell over it? “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Freddie took a small bite of his donut and chewed thoughtfully as he mulled over a response. The truth was that Freddie knew Roger was struggling and he wanted to take care of him, but he also knew the blond would not take kindly to being so blatantly babied. The other two bandmates were still confused over last night and over Roger’s failure to come to breakfast at the rest stop. Freddie decided casual teasing might be the best approach: “Well, I’m simply preventing all of us from having to deal with a hangry and caffeine-deprived arsehole later. Should be knighted for my nobility, really.” 

“Sir Freddie Fucking Mercury.” John deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at the singer as Brian stifled a laugh.

Roger smiled, glad to hear something lighthearted and responded with “Well fuck you too, Fred!” and laughed playfully as he tucked in to his breakfast. “Really though, I appreciate it. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

A silence fell over the table and the boys were all faintly aware of the bus roaring to life around them before beginning to crawl back toward the highway. Everyone was biding their time mulling over how to start the conversation they knew they needed to have.

Of course Brian was the one to break the silence, ever pushy as he was, though only because he cared for Roger’s wellbeing. “Uhm, so what was last night all about, Rog? Freddie said last night you might tell us?”

Freddie shot the guitarist a glare but quickly looked back to Roger to gauge his response. 

Roger swallowed hard and took a sip of his coffee, his eyes locked on the fake wood grain of the table. He then brought his hand up to his mouth and began nibbling on the skin around his nails, trying to think up a response. He figured the safest route would be to be as nondescript as possible, as he needn’t bear his soul without more prying. “I uh, get nightmares when I’m under a lot of pressure or I’m really tired or something. Freddie is used to it. I was awful to room with during exam weeks.”

“He’s not lying,” Freddie chuckled, trying to keep the atmosphere from weighing down. “He was an absolute nightmare, no pun intended.”

“It certainly took us by surprise,” John began, his kind gray eyes meeting Roger’s. “But we’re just glad you’re okay—“

“We didn’t know what was happening.” Brian gushed suddenly, his face flushed as he leaned forward in his panicked attempt to explain their fear from the night before. “I thought something was really wrong and if it weren’t for Fred being all calm I don’t know if John and I would’ve been able to handle it.”

Roger deflated. He didn’t have the energy to tell Brian that it would’ve been fine without Freddie, but only if Brian hadn’t woken him up. He knew Brian had meant well, but in not listening to Freddie Brian had inadvertently made the situation worse. The nightmares almost always went away on their own, and when they didn’t go away on their own they would end with a quick, more natural wake up as long as Roger was left to ride it out. Back when he’d lived with Freddie he’d told the singer it was better to just let him go through it, because to wake him in the middle of a nightmare meant yanking his mind into wakefulness much too abruptly, making the experience all the more traumatic with unnecessary shock and confusion. Roger had told him ‘if it makes you feel better you can comfort me— in fact: please comfort me but try not to wake me yourself unless you absolutely have to.’ 

“I wish you’d just listened when I told you not to wake him up.” Freddie sighed though not unkindly, voicing Roger’s thoughts.

“Was I supposed to just let him suffer?” Brian spat back, rounding on Freddie.

That definitely set Freddie off, and he tensed, his nostrils flaring with anger as he stared the guitarist down. No one could accuse him of not caring for his friends. “What, you think I’d let him suffer? I would never! I knew he was fine, you should’ve bloody trusted me! You act like I’ve never—“

“Please don’t argue” Roger whimpered then, barely loud enough for the others to hear. Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him in concern as tears welled in his own, but he gritted his teeth and glared down at the table surface, stubbornly willing away the unwanted display of emotion. As usual, he could feel anger bubbling up inside of him to drown his less-favored feelings. 

“Roggie?” Brian inquired softly, eyes searching the drummer in question.

Roger felt like he was on fire as his cheeks began to heat once more and his heart pounded in his ears. He was unable to control the rush of emotion that smacked into him full force. His hands slammed onto the tabletop, producing a sound akin to a gunshot and causing the other three to jump in surprise as he leapt to his feet. His body shook with rage and anxiety and he clenched his fists hard, digging the nails into his palms. “Stop it,” he hissed, voice low and shaking. “Just fucking stop it.”

“Roger, what are you on about?” John asked fearfully, squinting up at his standing bandmate, his concern for him growing. Freddie and Brian gawked at the drummer, his outburst having momentarily stunned them both.

“Stop bloody fighting!” Roger continued, shouting. “Stop ignoring what we say to each other! I mean, fuck, guys I’m not innocent either but just fucking stop.” The drummer was in tears now, not from sadness, but from the frustration that was overwhelming him. “I can’t fucking take it!” He quieted and tilted his head back then, blinking up at the ceiling to rid himself of the unwelcome tears.

Without a word Freddie stood and stepped to the drummer’s side, gently laying a hand on his trembling shoulder. At the touch Roger straightened up and sniffled, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as Freddie guided the blond back to sit down and perched beside him, an arm sliding around him in comfort. Freddie was the only one who knew why he was so bothered. “You’re right, I’m sorry. We need to stop fighting. We’re all just cranky and need to stop taking it out on one another.”

“Roggie, please talk to us,” Brian croaked out, reaching a hand out to the drummer, but dropped it to the table as Freddie shot him a look, but he continued speaking nonetheless. “I’m sorry we’ve been arguing, really I am, I just don’t understand the way Freddie does, I guess.”

Roger’s azure eyes flashed up to meet Brian’s and he grimaced as he challenged the guitarist: “You don’t understand yet you still think you know what’s best?”

Brian’s jaw dropped and his cheeks flushed with shame before he dropped his gaze to the table. When he spoke again his voice was small, pleading: “please let me in, Roggie.”

Roger just sighed, a sad, defeated look shadowing his features. “You want to be able to understand like Freddie?”

Brian’s sad eyes grew curious and traveled back up to the drummer’s as he raised his brows in silent affirmation.

“And you, Deaky? Its not pretty.”

John frowned but nodded once, prompting Roger to continue. “I suppose if you’re going to share anyway…”

Roger took a shaky breath eyes trained on the table as he searched for the words to begin. “My nightmares are usually scenarios that happened a long time ago, but as if they were happening in the present.” he explained, his steely gaze now locked challengingly on the guitarist. “It’s like everything I’m glad to be away from— to be rid of is back and worse than ever.”

Brian was leaning forward in his seat now in stark curiosity, while John shifted uncomfortably and Freddie just sadly looked on. Roger continued, speaking mostly to Brian. The guitarist was the one who wanted to know so badly anyhow.

“You see, Bri, I could tell you a sob story about how I was relentlessly teased in school or how my father made every little thing a big deal; how he made every issue, every mistake about how it would affect him; how he and my mum never got on; or how bloody confused I was when at 11 years old both my parents were trying to make me hate the other. How my mum told me we would pack up and go away forever and I would be left wondering when my life would be turned upside down, just for it to never actually happen.

“Or I could tell you how despite it all I know both of them loved me and that I loved them and still do, but that their mind games fucked me up so bad I can’t trust anyone or any place because God only knows what ulterior motives people have when they’re being nice to me, or what they’re plotting behind my back, or if they even really mean what they say!” Roger was letting himself get upset now. Tears now freely flowing, his fists were balled on the table, his chest hurt, his face was red, and the lump in his throat was bigger than ever. He could barely speak around it. Nevertheless he pushed on, determined to get everything out that needed to come out. Nothing more, nothing less. “But I won’t tell you a sob story. Because I had it good. I know i shouldn’t feel the way I do, I shouldn’t be ungrateful or claim trauma like some battered child. I could take corporal punishments, hell I probably deserved it most of the time but its the mind shit that got to me. But regardless of any of that, I was loved. I am loved, but for some reason my unconscious brain can’t wrap itself around that and its fucking infuriating.

“I have nightmares, Brian. About all that shit happening again, but instead of my parents its the other people I love most doing it, like you, and Deaky, and Freddie, hell even Mary has shown up in them. And it sucks. And sometimes I cant even tell what was real and what was just a dream. But if I’m left alone to ride out the nightmare, let it run it’s course, it turns into something mundane, like shopping for bloody fish tanks or playing my newest guitar. Its so much easier if I can just get it over with naturally than feeling like I teleported into another world. That is why I asked Fred to try to avoid waking me. That is why you should have bloody listened.”

Roger was shaking like a leaf with the adrenalin that coursed through his veins from just scratching the surface of his childhood trauma. He never spoke of this kind of thing except for to Freddie. Freddie and him were mutual confidants and were the only ones who knew each others’ deepest secrets. In reality, Freddie knew way more about all of what was mentioned, but Roger just couldn’t make himself rehash all of that now, here in the middle of no where, far out of his comfort zone. Brian and Deaky didn’t have to know the nitty gritty details, they now knew what they had to know for the sake of their living situation, and knew just enough of his past now to understand him a bit more in general. He had said what he needed to say and he wouldn’t— couldn’t say more.

“Bloody hell,” Deaky breathed. He had gone pale, and Brian beside him looked like a ghost. 

Roger wanted to reach out and comfort them, tell them it was okay and that they needn’t worry, but he just didn’t have it in him. He stood once again on shaking legs and threw back the rest of his coffee before addressing the table once more. “I’m gonna go back to bed. Thanks again for bringing breakfast.” He padded off to the bunks, fully prepared to dissociate from his surroundings and block everything out until they reached their next destination in a few hours.

Meanwhile, Brian sat brooding at the table. He was deeply disturbed by some of the things Roger had implied during his rant, and he was even more disturbed by the fact that he hadn’t known. He’d known Roger for years and had never had a clue that the blond had such a troubled past, and immense guilt washed over him as he thought of all the times Roger had blown up in anger, had broken things in a fit of rage or had been in such murderous or melancholy moods that no one wanted to interact with him. Brian had always written the drummer’s behavior off as childish or attention-seeking, but now that he knew it was deep rooted in trauma. 

The guitarist felt sick to his stomach and stumbled into Freddie, effectively pushing him out of the way as he scrambled to escape the table’s seating to follow the drummer. He hurried after him and caught him by the wrist as he went to climb into his bunk. 

Roger started and gasped when he felt the long fingers wrap around his wrist, but relaxed when he saw that it was Brian. “Oh, didn’t hear you coming.” 

Brian smirked playfully, fondness for his drummer overwhelming his guilt for a moment, “should really turn down your monitor on stage, Rog.” 

Roger scowled but didn’t respond verbally, settling for an exaggerated eye roll. Brian knew he needed it up loud, even if it would damage his hearing. It was just one of the many occupational hazards of drumming. 

The two bandmates shifted in uncomfortable silence for a moment before Brian gathered his courage. He took a deep breath before meeting the drummer’s eyes. The unique deepness of the blue orbs always fascinated the guitarist. “Can we talk for a sec? Then I’ll let you alone to sleep, promise.”

Roger sighed heavily, and crossed his arms over his chest, hunching over slightly as the hint of frown twitched at the corner of his lips. “Uh, yeah... I guess.”

“Thanks.” Brian gestured to his own bunk and sat down on it. He closely observed the drummer as he did the same, his shoulders tense and his expression guarded. 

Roger squirmed uncomfortably before seeming to settle a bit, and raised his brow, prompting Brian to begin.

The guitarist took another deep breath carefully calculating his words before he spoke in a low voice so the others wouldn’t eavesdrop. “I can’t help feeling like maybe I triggered your nightmare last night, Roggie. I’m so sorry.”

Roger seemed stunned for a moment, his eyes wide in surprise. “You didn’t—“

“Of course I did, Rog. You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings. I was awful to you. I saw the hurt in your eyes, I saw that flinch when I nearly hit you. Just let me be sorry. And please, please forgive me.”

“You didn’t know, Bri.” Roger sighed, softly, uncrossing an arm to lay a gentle hand on the guitarist’s shoulder. “But sorry for being a prat during scrabble or for nearly hitting me? Of course I forgive you for both.” Roger flashed a brilliant, teasing smile that miraculously pulled a small grin from Brian as well.

“That too,” Brian chuckled, sending both musicians into a fit of giggles. They both missed this: the child-like fun they could have together as a band when they weren’t all caught up in the pressure of tour life. Silence settled between them once more before they spoke again.

“So, ah... this is rough, innit?” Roger sighed. He didn’t specify but Brian knew he meant the tour. “I never expected it to be… so damn exhausting. It’s nothing like touring back home.” He nervously pulled at a loose thread on his shirt, his gaze trained on his lap in order to avoid Brian’s.

“Are you disappointed, Roger?” Brian responded, his voice low.

“No!” The drummer started, his eyes snapping up to meet the guitarist’s. “This is everything! Touring— this— I have never wanted anything more than to play music for a living, Bri, this is everything I’ve ever wanted and more. But, ya know, there’s a downside to everything. Being a rockstar just happens to be a lot of fucking work.”

Brian snorted “that’s an understatement.”

“Regardless,” the blond continued as he bowed his head to force out the next difficult words, “it’s taken a toll and, well, I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick or if I scared you lot last night. I’ve been having a bit of hard time as of late.“

Brian laid a reassuring hand on Roger’s hunched shoulder and gave him a playful shake. “Don’t worry, mate, you haven’t been any worse than your usual bullheaded self.”

“Good to know,” Roger hummed sarcastically, a sweet smile gracing his face for a moment before he grew somber once more. “I guess I’m just really tired.” He went to stand, but Brian caught him once more. 

“Wait, Rog. Just one more thing?”

Roger’s eyes wandered up to Brian’s curiously.

“Look, uh, Deaky said something to me last night after scrabble about the way I treat you sometimes…”

“And?”

“Well he said I treat you badly. Like you’re daft, and I just want you to know that I don’t think that of you at all, Rog. You’re incredibly bright, and I can’t explain why I say the things I do. I guess I’ve just always seen you as a little brother. I never had a sibling but if i had one I’d assume it would be like my relationship with you. Maybe that’s it.” Brian was curling in on himself, biting his lip nervously as he waited for a response. 

Several seconds passed before the blond spoke: “If I’m being honest, Bri, you do talk down to me sometimes, I’ll admit. But you said it yourself: you’re my brother. That’s just how we are. All four of us have this kind of dynamic, and it just works, our music works because we hall give our input and the struggle makes it happen. I don’t know…” Roger trailed off and bit his lip. “I, uh— well… I don’t want you to compromise your musical vision for being nice to me.”

Brian was shocked. Did Roger really think his feelings were less important than Brian’s opinions? “I’m sorry Rog. But i need to be better, not just with you but with the whole band. I’ll figure out how to convey my thoughts without being an absolute arse. Just talk to me, yeah?” Brian clapped the blond on the back, forcing a smile to try to bring the mood back up. “I really don’t mean to talk down to you and I don’t want Deaky to be the one to have to tell me I’m being awful to you next time. Okay?”

“Okay.” Roger gave Brian a soft smile of reassurance. 

“Are we okay?” Brian asked, his hand gripping the blond’s shoulder.

Roger’s smile grew and he met the worried gaze readily. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay, mate.”

“Good. Now go get some sleep.” Brian ruffled Roger’s hair fondly and gave him a gentle shove off the bed. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice!” The drummer stumbled into the spindly metal ladder up to his bunk with and immediately clambered up and burrowed into his blanket. “Do try to keep those hooligans out there quiet for me, will ya?”

“Alright, Rog. Just don’t bite anyone’s head off when we have to wake you for the press conference when we get there.”

Roger just groaned in response and Brian chuckled as he returned back to the kitchenette where Freddie and John had pulled out the scrabble board. 

For the moment, the raging stress of the tour was quelled and all was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to each and every one of you <3

**Author's Note:**

> please drop a comment and let me know what you thought. thanks for reading!


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